"Darling, don't cry." Jenny pleaded with Kyrie. As her daughter held her mother's hand up against the soft skin of her face, Jenny could feel the tears spilling out of Kyrie's eyes. Pulling the now short- haired child close to her chest, she rocked her back and forth, not wanting to let her go ever again. Seeing that she was safe, feeling the soft hair against her fingers, pulling her child's body close to hers – she just wanted to hold her tight and never let go.
But with the sound of sniffles, Jenny asked, "Kyrie, what's wrong, baby?" She said in a sweet tone, running her fingers gently through Kyrie's hair.
The sweet British accent that greeted her ears made her heart just melt even more. "I can't believe it's you."
Smiling, Jenny leaned her head down, so her own cheek rested upon the top of Kyrie's red hair. And she whispered back lovingly, "I can't believe it's you either."
Kyrie pulled her legs up into the bed, cuddling closely into Jenny's body, being careful, Jenny could tell, making sure she was gentle as she snuggled into her mother.
Jenny didn't know how long they lay there together. But she could have done just that for the rest of her life and she would have been happy.
Kyrie was the first one to talk, still snuggled close. "You're going to be ok, aren't you, Mum?"
Smiling, she said, "Yes, darling. I'm going to be just fine." The look of relief on her child's face made her smile. And then she added, in a jesting way, "If only they would let me have some real food around here."
